party time dancers


sitting by the stage,
slowly crafting a
buzz, trying to
look decadent, 
glancing
down the runway,

the naked girl wears
a smile wearier than mine.
I feel guilty for staring,
so lust for the waitress
instead, who flirts
the flirtations of
a paid pro, 
no smile
just a wink.

in front of me,
the dancer gyrates,
now smirking, in 
total control with
just a g-string
and pumps.

the Prince song comes on,
the one I loved at her age,
blasting down the highway
in that trooper favorite
red Mustang, returning
home from washing
dishes at that
failing country joint.

the song was a call
to a better tomorrow
a new life
a new style
a way out.

“dearly beloved
we are gathered here today
to get through this thing called life”

I’m gathered here today
to get through empty words,
wasted paychecks,
forgotten afternoons.

[Back To Poetry By Bill Tuomala] [Exiled on Main Street] [Writing] [Contact]